


Eggshells

by CharryWotter



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: (he promises), Angst, Ben and Dave are mentioned, Character Study, Hurt Klaus Hargreeves, Hurt No Comfort, Klaus Hargreeves Needs Help, M/M, Post-Season/Series 01, Sober Klaus Hargreeves, klaus isn't okay, mentions of trauma and ptsd, not really canon compliant with s2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:41:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25154122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharryWotter/pseuds/CharryWotter
Summary: Starting over. A new beginning. A reset. A reprieve—Klaus is living in a new time, and he's sober, and he's moved on, so he should be happy.(He isn't.)
Relationships: Dave/Klaus Hargreeves
Comments: 4
Kudos: 56





	Eggshells

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while back, so it diverges from s2 canon somewhat (ie. no cults here) but I thought I'd post it anyway in honor of the trailer's release.

1960\. Texas.

Starting over. A new beginning. A reset. A reprieve—

An uphill battle. An internal struggle. And Klaus is losing.

He’s living and he’s sober, his heart beats and he breathes, he tries to move on and let go, but his smile is a touch too glazed, the gleam in his eyes slightly manic, his hands shaky and his heart yearning.

Time isn’t real, what he remembers didn’t happen, it’s over and it never began, but it’s all there in his head; the death, the violence, the darkness, and it’s so substantial, it’s still so real.

And though he was disregarded in the past, it’s worse now, because nobody in this time can understand why he’s hurting and his siblings refuse to try, and he’s isolated living in a time that shouldn’t exist and remembering a time that doesn’t exist, and he feels like he’s being pulled in two.

He’s better now. 

That was his decision, his resolution, and he stuck with it; he’s no longer the junkie with ragged clothing and morbid jokes and tormented eyes that everyone expected him to be, he cleaned up and changed his appearance and left that chapter of his life behind him. 

He’s healthy.

And his siblings are pleased, proud of him for once, and they have too many of their own problems to contend with to notice or care that it’s all a lie, that he’s cracked and splintering within, that now he’s full of so many contradictions he doesn’t know who he is, and he doesn’t understand why he’s not okay yet.

Healthy on the outside, damaged on the inside, and without drugs, he feels it all so acutely. The world is vivid and sharp and full of danger, except it really isn’t, not anymore, and he can’t trust his own senses.

An offhand glance at a ghost, a confined space—and he’s back in the mausoleum, with bloody nails and bruised knees and icy fear coursing through his veins, as he screams for his tormentor to let him out, while the ghosts shriek and wail and it’s all too much...

An open trunk of a car, the sickly sweet smell of donuts—and he’s tied to a chair, ropes and knives shredding his skin, cigarettes burning the irritated flesh and it’s never going to end, he’s never going to be free until he dies, but they’re not merciful enough for that, he’s gasping for air...

Loud noises, planes overhead, the clink of his dog tags—and he’s clutching a dying man as bullets and shouting bombard the air and everyone’s an enemy, and war is hell but living without Dave would be even worse, and he needs a medic, dammit, medic! Look at me, hey, hey, hey, it’s okay, please, please, stay with me, Dave, stay with me, no, no, no, no, no...

It’s confusing and overwhelming and he’s trembling and choking and sobbing, and he can’t remember where he is, doesn’t understand if he’s in pain, everything aches and he shakes and claws at his own skin and the memories are whirling and—

And then his mind detaches from his body and everything is blissfully blank.

It hurts to return to reality, to stretch stiff limbs and blink burning eyes and feel the oppressive wave of awareness come flooding back. In the back of his mind, he wonders what happiness and healing feels like, and if it’s something he’ll ever know.

He doesn’t want to consider his future, the future that should have been his past, and he doesn’t want to acknowledge his potential, the ability he always suppressed; he can’t bear to think about it. 

Because underneath it all, he’s still the same scared little kid who let his brother die and spiralled out of control, and he misses when he was brave enough to be a coward, to run away and numb it all and let himself be broken.

The world is cruel, and he’s tired—wearily, achingly, bone-deep tired—and all he wants to do is sleep, to close his eyes and escape himself and his memories and his past that the world believes didn’t happen. To heal, to forget, to be safe.

But he’s incapable, powerless, weak, and all he can do is watch as his sanity unravels further and further and the ghosts of the past grow stronger and stronger; and he pretends that he’s better and nobody cares, and reality slips away. 

And as he stares up at the ceiling at night, heart pounding and body shivering, his brother still dead and his recovery still a lie, he vaguely wonders when he became a soul as lifeless and haunted as the ones that traumatized him in the beginning.


End file.
